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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539907">baby let's be candid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/martialartist816/pseuds/martialartist816'>martialartist816</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Bottom Wang Yi Bo/Top Xiao Zhan, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, but very inconsequential undertones, famous!yibo, photographer!xiaozhan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:34:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/martialartist816/pseuds/martialartist816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wang Yibo is probably the most famous person to ever set foot in Xiao Zhan's studio. And that's not even the most interesting part about being left alone with him for hours.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>wang yibo and xiao zhan</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>baby let's be candid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>first and foremost, BIGGEST thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternitysky/pseuds/eternitysky">eternitysky</a> for beta-ing and making this make sense</p>
<p>second, please take a look at <a href="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2012/06/23/fashion/runway/dolcegabbana_mws13app-slide-EO1L/dolcegabbana_mws13app-slide-EO1L-superJumbo.jpg?quality=75&amp;auto=webp&amp;disable=upscale">the outfit that served as inspiration for what yibo's wearing</a> in this fic. it's not important to the story that you know what it looks like. but it's important to me that you picture yibo in it</p>
<p>third, i blame this fic on the folks in the discord server. you know who you are</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan has heard of him—of course he has. His face is printed on every magazine, scrolling across every LED screen, flashing on every television in every building in every city. He is a common household name just as much as his endless list of endorsements.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wang Yibo: actor, dancer, singer, rapper, motorcyclist—and now model. Xiao Zhan doesn’t know if it’s a marketing gimmick for something else, or if Wang Yibo has gotten bored with his current repertoire of talents and wants to try something else, or if he plans on dropping everything and moving to modeling full-time. Whatever his (his management’s) reasoning may be, Xiao Zhan doesn’t care. He’s seen Yibo’s pictures, knows he has the face and body and general attitude to get away with wearing anything. So Xiao Zhan isn’t concerned with the newbie’s skill. Online, it seems, Wang Yibo has a reputation for being good at everything he tries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His manager rushes into the studio and fills up the space with her whirlwind presence. Xiao Zhan doesn’t know who she’s on the phone with, but he feels deeply for them if they have to keep up with her rapid-fire instructions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s getting dressed now,” she says with a rough nod toward the hallway that leads to the changing room, cutting off Xiao Zhan’s customary polite hello. She doesn’t sound like she has time for hello’s. “His makeup is already done, hair styled, anything else you need?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That should be everything,” he responds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Accessories? Props?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure I can manage with what’s here in the studio.” Xiao Zhan offers her a cool smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great,” Manager-jie says (Xiao Zhan has seen her name in emails but can’t remember it off the top of his head). “I have to go finalize some things with his next flight. Do you mind if I leave him here with you for a few hours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan wants to say that she didn’t have to make it sound like a babysitting gig, but she’s juggling about four other conversations on the phone and hasn’t looked him in the eye once this entire time. She’s already physically on her way out the door and probably mentally at the airport ticket counter even as he says, “That’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll be good. He responds well to clear and direct orders,” she offers as parting advice before barking something into her phone and disappearing down the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Xiao Zhan can mull that bit of information over, he hears the door to the dressing room swing open and closed. Wang Yibo emerges from the hallway, his legs easing into long strides and making him look elegant despite how he’s hunched over his phone. Xiao Zhan was prepared to meet the most beautiful face in Asia (there was an official vote and everything), but Yibo’s sheer presence still paints him breathless for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan falters for a second, hands stilling at the joints of the tripod he’s positioning. He doesn’t mean to watch Yibo cross the room, click off his phone and set it on a side table against the wall, but there’s something magnetic about Yibo with the way Xiao Zhan’s neck so easily swivels to keep up with him. Maybe Xiao Zhan is used to working with beautiful people, but this is the first time he’s considering the truth behind the word “head-turner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wang Yibo faces away from the table and searches the room, the gloss on his plush lips on full display when he frowns slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She had to leave,” Xiao Zhan explains. Yibo’s eyes snap over to him, and they strike Xiao Zhan right in the chest. “She said she’ll be back in a few hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Yibo says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs, and the cotton of his shirt rustles in the dim golden lighting of the studio. The outfit for today’s shoot drapes over him perfectly. The material of the top is so fine and delicate that it looks like it’s made of powder. Too strong of a breeze and it could flutter off like a feather. The image blown up over the front of the shirt is a faded rendering of a medieval painting, distressed just enough to be abstract from far away, but minutely detailed when seen up close. What’s truly magnificent about it is the way Yibo’s skin tone is almost luminous against the white and pale pink of the shirt. It’s a really good palette on him, to say plainly. The shorts, by contrast, are dark and heavy. They would bring the eye downward had it not been for the high waistband and the thin black belt creating a lovely middling ground right above the hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Xiao Zhan, by the way. Nice to meet you.” Xiao Zhan steps around his camera setup and extends a hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo takes it and shakes firmly, grunting in agreement but not offering his name back because he knows Xiao Zhan knows who he is. Of course he knows who he is. But the simple handshake distracts him more than it should. Yibo’s hand is big and warm, and Xiao Zhan can’t help but notice how the width of his palm completely dwarfs the size of his already slim wrist. Now that he's looking, Xiao Zhan also notices the broadness of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist that’s cinched even smaller by the belt. This guy’s proportions are insane. Xiao Zhan’s starting to understand why his modeling career is as lucrative as it is recent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It looks like…” Xiao Zhan takes in the state of Yibo’s hair and makeup. The stylists did their job well, doing him up but not out-shining the clothing. “…there’s nothing left to do but start. Do you mind standing in front of the cove while I test out the lighting?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo hums and does as told. He occupies the blank white space like he’s meant to be there, a larger-than-life piece of art wearing a piece of art. The result on camera might be nothing compared to the real life thing, so Xiao Zhan has his work cut out for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Xiao Zhan snaps a few pictures and fiddles with the shutter settings, Yibo stands there in an elegantly casual posture and looks around the room. Xiao Zhan pauses after a few, though, leaning away from the camera to analyze Yibo from head to toe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I forget something?” Yibo asks when he sees Xiao Zhan hesitate, looking down at himself and scrutinizing his own outfit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just think it could use…” Xiao Zhan trails off and goes for a table of accessories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paws through a few bags of necklaces until he finds one he likes—an ox head pendant looped with a thick silver chain. It’s one of his favorites, and he loves how heavy it feels in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put this on for me,” he says when he steps back into the cove.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo doesn’t reach out to take it. Instead, he simply turns around at Xiao Zhan’s suggestion, dipping his head forward to expose the back of his neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan slips the necklace on for him, clasping it at the longest chain. When Yibo turns around, fingers playing absently with the pendant, Xiao Zhan is pleased with his choice. The deep V of the shirt commanded adornment. The length of the necklace has the pendant sitting perfectly at the center of Yibo’s chest, filling up the V and really drawing the eye to center.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo glances at the pendant and chuckles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Xiao Zhan asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just,” Yibo lets the necklace fall back into place, wearing a lopsided grin, “the ox represents my birth year.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, even more fitting.” Xiao Zhan goes back to his camera. Yes, even further away, the outfit looks that much more complete.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you a secret fan?” Yibo prods, like he wouldn’t be surprised if Xiao Zhan was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In truth, Xiao Zhan doesn’t usually care for celebrity worship. He’s met plenty through work, and most of them aren’t as spectacular as some of their diehard fans claim. Not to be cynical, but it’s just not something Xiao Zhan gives much thought to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he likes Yibo—or rather, he’s very interested in his personality—so he decides to tease back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even if I was, I wouldn’t tell you.” He goes back to taking test pictures, capturing Yibo’s amused grin. “What usually works well for you when with a photographer?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo stands with a little more purpose, squaring his shoulders with the camera and angling his head from side to side. He’s not looking at the lens, though, but rather past the camera. He’s looking at Xiao Zhan, his gaze an electric weight that’s almost too pleasant to ignore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything, really,” Yibo answers without much thought. “If you just tell me what you want, I can make it happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan figures he’ll find out soon enough if that confidence is well placed or not. Regardless, he smiles as he changes another setting on the camera.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your manager told me you respond to orders pretty well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did she say it while rolling her eyes?” Yibo chuckles. “I’m sure she wishes I’d listen to her as obediently as I do my photographers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trying to earn your keep in the modeling world?” Xiao Zhan snaps a photo just as Yibo’s tongue runs over his bottom lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, just—” Click. “—I like being told what to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He says it while looking right at the camera. Yibo’s expression is neutral when the words leave his mouth, but his eyes glint in the gentle lighting in a way that’s got Xiao Zhan’s fingers tingling just below the surface of his skin. Xiao Zhan doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So take good care of me, Xiao Zhan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re already wearing the clothes so well, I doubt I could make you look bad.” Xiao Zhan steps around the camera again, this time to angle the strobe just a little bit to the side. He has to stop there, or he knows he’ll keep fiddling with equipment toward some unattainable perfect end. “I think we’re ready, so just start how you’re comfortable, and I’ll direct if needed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo gives a professional nod and rolls his shoulders a few times. Xiao Zhan takes his place behind the camera and watches as a different person seems to step forward from the curtain, wearing Wang Yibo like a second skin. Even in the most neutral of poses, the personality this guy exudes is arresting and effortless. Xiao Zhan takes photos one after the other, and Yibo slides into poses so well-timed Xiao Zhan thinks he’s cueing himself with music even though there’s none playing. Right. He’s a dancer. Xiao Zhan hasn’t seen any of his performances, but from the ease and grace with which Yibo controls his body now, he wouldn’t be hard pressed to conclude he’s very, very good at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tug the lapel a little, so the collar comes flush against the back of your neck,” Xiao Zhan says, because he was almost too lost in Wang Yibo’s intense eyes to notice the way the shirt started listing out of place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo executes the order without a word, using one finger to hook in the low V of the collar to pull the top down a bit further. He even leaves his index finger hanging on the fabric for a few pictures. With the way he tilts his head back and exposes the underside of his jaw, the pose draws an endless line of skin from his chin, down his throat, and reaching the dip that comes to a point in the center of his chest. Xiao Zhan takes two quick photos before he can stop himself, zoomed in a little too close to Yibo’s collarbones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lower your arm. We need to see the top,” Xiao Zhan reminds him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo does just that, letting his arm slip down to show off the shirt, and then lower still. His fingers play at the edge of his shorts, short enough for him to touch the hem without reaching, and even tug the pressed fabric up a little bit. They wrinkle slightly, bunching up around the outside of Yibo’s thigh, exposing more skin by a tantalizing fraction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His other hand comes up to cup behind his neck. The pose opens Yibo’s body up, creates an invitation that Xiao Zhan knows is just for the camera. Yibo’s gaze bears down on the lens with a simmering heat that could melt ice, but it feels like he’s looking past the lens, through the camera, directly at Xiao Zhan. It’s just for the camera. The magazine is going to eat him up, and Xiao Zhan is enabling it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The minutes tick by without Xiao Zhan needing to give Yibo much more instruction. Like most models, Yibo eases up, gets comfortable, and tries poses that are more experimental, and of course he looks good no matter what he does. His rhythm remains consistent the entire time, his momentum with confidence doing nothing but building and building. In the quiet of the room, Xiao Zhan can hear when Yibo drags his palm down his chest, seemingly just to feel how soft the shirt is. He can hear when Yibo swallows and parts his lips with a soft, low breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get you a prop to work with,” Xiao Zhan says, mostly to himself, and goes to the other end of the room, which is stacked high with various objects that serve one purpose or another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need me to change anything up?” he hears Yibo ask from the cove.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you’re doing fine,” Xiao Zhan assures. Too fine, he wants to say, but doesn’t. He finds a low, long bench with a light blue dimpled cushion and figures Yibo could drape himself over it as elegantly as the clothes drape over him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He carries the bench back to their station and sets it down on its slim brown wooden legs, nudging it over a few inches to make it perfectly centered and straightened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Show me what you can do with a playmate,” Xiao Zhan says, gesturing to the bench and flashing a smile. He stays there just long enough to see the quirk in Yibo’s eyebrow, then goes back to his place behind the camera.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A bit small, but I’ve never met a toy I couldn’t work with before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo steps around to the front of the bench, sits himself in the middle, and presses both hands to the edge between his legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s definitely something coy marinating in Yibo’s voice. And—let’s be real—the sentence alone teeters far beyond the boundary of something that could be taken innocently. Xiao Zhan looks at him—not through the camera, just looks at him—and Yibo smiles cheekily. Xiao Zhan wants him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he ducks down to look through the lens, readjusting the angle and focus, and goes back to work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look different when you smile.” Xiao Zhan feels like he’s allowed to say so. Hiding behind the tripod makes him feel like he’s got a shield between himself and the model who’s doing his best to break down his walls and go for the gold. “You look cute.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Smiling’s not good for pictures, though.” Yibo tilts his head up once in an acknowledging nod, a grin tugging on the corners of his lips regardless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoever told you that hasn’t seen you smile before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gaps between their conversation are punctuated with camera clicks. The way Yibo stares into the lens like he wants to fuck it, Xiao Zhan feels almost possessive over the photos he’s taking. Someone else is going to see Yibo like this. A lot of someones, actually. But in the fever pitch of this square room with no one else around, the low lighting and the slow sounds of clothes rustling against skin, Xiao Zhan also feels like he’s stepped into a fantasy. Yibo sure is born from one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For his comment, Xiao Zhan earns another smile from Yibo, big and sweet and maybe a bit over-flourished, but still stunning. Xiao Zhan snaps more pictures, knowing in his heart the magazine will not pick any of them, but they deserve to be immortalized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do I look like when I don’t smile?” Yibo makes his eyes big, eyelashes fluttering demurely, and lowers the corners of his mouth into a little pout. It’s devastating. Xiao Zhan has to have him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks about the question through a few more pictures. Everything, he wants to say. Yibo’s neutral face is intense and piercing, it puts a name to the general air of coolness and above-the-rest-ness he carries around at all times. When Yibo walks into a room, it’s not like he commands attention—he doesn’t come across as that arrogant—but it’s given to him anyway. And Xiao Zhan has come to all these conclusions and more in the hour he’s known him in person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re beautiful,” he settles on, because the word has many definitions and Yibo is all of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, Yibo shifts into a new pose. He slides one foot onto the bench, rests his arm over his bent knee. Leaning his weight on his other arm, he tilts his head back slightly, and Xiao Zhan is quick to capture the image.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve heard that one once or twice,” Yibo mulls all sultry and teasing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan could tell him that all models hear it. All models hear how beautiful they are from other people. Obviously, it’s their job to be beautiful, to draw the eye to what they’re wearing and make people want to buy it. But Xiao Zhan isn’t looking at the clothes hanging off Yibo’s body—instead he’s fixated on the little section of skin at the inside of Yibo’s thigh that’s exposed when the shorts ride up a little too high from the bend of his leg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you use a different word for yourself?” Xiao Zhan asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it’s Yibo who considers the question. The arm he’s leaning on bends, his weight redistributes to his elbow so he’s even more reclined and spread out on the bench. His other hand comes to his chin, and he sticks the corner of his thumb into his mouth like he’s about to chew the skin. But Yibo just holds it there, a wedge to prop his lips open. Xiao Zhan can see a hint of teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Irresistible,” Yibo settles with, and Xiao Zhan believes he means it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds eye contact with the camera for a moment before turning his head to gaze off to the side. Xiao Zhan catches the sharp angle of his jaw. His profile looks sculpted. Of course, he takes pictures of this too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“People just can’t help themselves around you, right?” Xiao Zhan supplies with a hint of a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo lowers his hand and runs his tongue over the spot his thumb was just resting. He responds with a grin of his own, self-satisfied and devious, then lowers his foot back to the ground to face the camera.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Yibo agrees. “But mostly I’m hoping it’s true for you too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo’s eyes cast over the camera, his face open and earnest when he says it, but also unhesitating like he’s challenging either Xiao Zhan or himself to be the first to back off. Xiao Zhan allows himself to smile at Yibo’s forwardness. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t the first time a client has come onto him, so he likes the compliment of Yibo’s assertiveness at the very least. Whether Yibo is actually attracted to him, or if he’s just a flirt with everyone, remains to be said. And Xiao Zhan is okay with that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you put one leg on either side of the bench,” Xiao Zhan says instead of any semblance of acknowledgement toward Yibo’s comment. He doesn’t miss the way Yibo huffs slightly, but he follows the suggestion to a tee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Angling his body to the side, Yibo straddles the bench and arches both feet to point the toes of his shoes into the floor. He leans forward on his hands slightly, back arching, as he schools his modeling face back into place. Xiao Zhan takes the pictures while Yibo rolls his neck and shoulders to get himself in a good position. His pose, of course, looks good. But there’s something too heavy about the lower half. Xiao Zhan takes a step back from the camera and considers what he sees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try taking the shoes off,” he goes with, and Yibo’s eyebrows raise at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You won’t get in trouble for messing with the designer’s outfit?” He leans down, hooking a finger in the ankle of his dress shoe, and shoves it off his heel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You couldn’t see the shoes in half the shots anyway.” Which is true, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s technically not allowed to change any of the styling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the shoes are tugged off, Yibo strips his socks too and stuffs them into each shoe, then throws them off to the side to be cleaned up later. When his bare toes brush against the floor this time, it’s so much better. Yibo’s ankles look so delicate, his legs pale and smooth with just a subtle dusting of hair on the calves. Xiao Zhan stops himself from wondering if Yibo ever shaves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s—” Innocent. Boyish. Enticing. “—casual. It’s good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan goes back to the camera, fires off a few photos as Yibo starts feeling himself in this new pose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in the back of his mind, unprovoked, sizzles with the knowledge of how easily he got Yibo to take his shoes off. It’s dangerous territory, but Xiao Zhan is already charting it. He can probably tell Yibo to take off more than just his shoes, and Yibo would listen, just like his manager said he would. Yibo even said it himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I like being told what to do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bring both legs up on the bench,” Xiao Zhan says, mouth moving before his filter can process it into oblivion. “Yeah, like that. Lower the leg that’s closest to me, and bend the other one.” Yibo’s body flows with the direction of Xiao Zhan’s voice like a puppet with its strings pulled. “Good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo’s body takes up the length of the bench. It’s like it’s meant for him, and he wears it as good as he wears anything. The bench, the outfit, the hair and makeup—everything seems to exist for the sole purpose of highlighting how beautiful Wang Yibo is. Come, look at him. Look at nothing but him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he shouldn’t be modeling, because anyone who looks at his pictures will just want to look at Yibo and not even glance at the clothes he’s supposed to be selling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try resting your hand on your thigh,” Xiao Zhan instructs, a man possessed. “The other one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corner of Yibo’s mouth tilts upwards. He brings his right hand to his left leg, the one that’s bent. His fingers brush over the skin of his inner thigh, as gently as Xiao Zhan would do himself if he had permission to touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little higher.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even as he’s saying it, it’s like Yibo has heard his thoughts, already dragging his fingers up and pulling the shorts with them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Distracted as he is watching Yibo’s hand inch closer to his hips, Xiao Zhan tears his focus away from it to look at Yibo’s face. Yibo stares intently into the camera, his darkened eyes knowing and immodest. Yibo is watching Xiao Zhan watch him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pictures won’t do him any justice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anywhere else you want me to put my hands?” Yibo asks, squeezing his thigh once before going higher still. The leg of the shorts is nothing but a wrinkled strip of fabric constricting around Yibo’s upper thigh now, but Xiao Zhan isn’t about to tell him to fix it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could put your fingers back in your mouth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That good for pictures?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some people don’t do it well,” Xiao Zhan says honestly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I do,” Yibo answers, and it’s not a question, but Xiao Zhan nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo tongues at the corner of his mouth against a smirk that Xiao Zhan sees anyway. He readies the camera by zooming in—much closer than he should for a fashion shoot—so just half of Yibo’s chest and above is in the frame. The pads of Yibo’s first two fingers swipe pensively over his bottom lip, like he’s deciding how he wants to position his hand. He lifts his hand a little more, until he can dart his tongue out and slide along the apex between the two fingers. Xiao Zhan takes in a sharp breath as Yibo drags his tongue back up his index finger, then slides the whole thing into his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan isn’t blind. Yibo’s fingers are long, and with the digit sliding in all the way up to his knuckles, Xiao Zhan has no choice but to imagine it brushing against his soft palate. Maybe Yibo doesn’t have a gag reflex.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Yibo drags the finger out, he tilts his head back and parts his lips. It’s almost obscene how shiny his skin looks with his own saliva, the spit glistening on his lips against the studio lighting. Xiao Zhan presses down on the shutter button and captures the tip of Yibo’s tongue poking out to clean up the mess.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spends maybe too much time focusing on just Yibo’s face. Xiao Zhan makes a mental note to go through all his pictures after this and sort out the ones that’ll be useless for the magazine. There will be a lot, most of them just featuring Yibo’s blatant sex eyes that are too not safe for work to be printed. They say sex sells, but not when the object of the photo is so obviously horny for the cameraman. Where to put the unusable photos—well, Xiao Zhan keeps a personal flash drive with him, and it’s got plenty of storage space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you untuck your shirt.” By now, Xiao Zhan has absolutely noticed that Yibo follows through without asking questions. He doesn’t need to be asked, so Xiao Zhan doesn’t need to end each suggestion with an uptick in tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo wipes his wet hand on the back of the bench and grips the front of his shirt. Inching the fabric up from under the belt, Yibo tugs it loose until the hem billows back down over his hips. Xiao Zhan sees a flash of skin under the shirt until it settles, and yeah, he wants to see more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you body shy?” he asks with just a hint of teasing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a quirk of his eyebrow, Yibo lifts the shirt again, bunching up a handful and slowly dragging it upwards. Each gradual inch reveals what Xiao Zhan didn’t think he needed to brace himself for. He counts the tight, prominent abdominal muscles as they peek into view. Two, four, six—Xiao Zhan is almost mad at himself for not expecting Yibo to be so cut. He’s tall and slim, but with just the right proportions to avoid looking gangly. He fills out clothes well, hence his rapid propulsion into the modeling world’s radar. But this—this makes him wonder what other secrets and surprises Yibo’s body is hiding under the clothes that Xiao Zhan is quickly getting him out of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think?” Yibo challenges, all pomp and confidence. On anyone else, the size of his ego would be ugly. On Wang Yibo, it’s earned and then some.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Definitely not body shy,” Xiao Zhan confirms. He fires off more photos, the shutter clicking rapidly. He’s quickly getting over his shame at using a work camera for personal pleasure, but he also knows no one besides himself is ever going to lay eyes on these pictures.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t be in this industry.” Yibo drags the corner of the shirt up all the way to his mouth. His chest is exposed, one pink nipple on display just to make Xiao Zhan’s head swim, it seems.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A lot of people wanting to get your clothes off, huh?” Xiao Zhan can’t help it now that they’ve eased into this banter. He pings off Yibo like they’ve known each other for longer than an hour. The energy between them is casual and torrential at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not as often as you’d think.” Yibo drops the shirt back down and turns over, stretching out on his stomach as his feet kick up behind him. Resting on his elbows, he angles his head to hit the camera with another arresting glance. The shirt, untucked, rides up just a little and exposes a strip of skin on Yibo’s lower back. “But what about you? Photograph tons of nude models in your line of work?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan laughs. He tries to picture himself doing this flirty back and forth with any of his previous clients and realizes he can’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fashion magazines won’t sell anything with nude models.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but before this. In school or something,” Yibo presses, and Xiao Zhan finds himself wanting to give him everything he asks for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Humming in thought, Xiao Zhan moves from a close up to a wide shot, framing Yibo from his head to his knees. He decides to shorten the tripod, bringing the camera lens level with the height of the bench. Crouching down, Xiao Zhan inwardly preens at how good Yibo looks and takes more photos.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There have been some here and there, sure,” Xiao Zhan says. Then, anticipating Yibo’s next question, “None of them were like you, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo chews on a finger, looking over his shoulder at Xiao Zhan. He flashes a smile again, one that gets Xiao Zhan’s blood pumping a little faster. He’s not smug or anything, which is probably the most beautiful thing about it. He looks genuinely happy to hear the compliment, so much so that his eyelashes flutter a bit. Xiao Zhan is just on the cusp of wondering if that’s a shy mannerism when Yibo not-very-subtly flexes his hips down into the bench cushion below him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The movement halts Xiao Zhan in his tracks, finger tensing over the camera button. He waits for a long moment. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, exactly; the picture Yibo makes is perfect the way it is, and Xiao Zhan is aware that he’s missing an excellent shot. Still, he waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time since the start of the shoot, Yibo closes his eyes indulgently. The arch of his back is unmistakable as he undulates down again, long and slow and deliberate and fuck—that’s what he looks like when he’s grinding his hips and putting on a show. Xiao Zhan suddenly regrets that he’s never watched any of Yibo dance videos before, if this is what he brings to the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes the picture now, the click loud and jarring, but Yibo is unfazed by the sound. He stills, though, cracking his eyes open and meeting Xiao Zhan’s with an easy smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he mutters, and he’s not sorry at all. He pulls his finger from his mouth with an unnecessary wet noise and lowers his hand to grip at the edge of the bench.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do it again,” Xiao Zhan asks, even though it certainly comes out sounding like a command. Guess that makes them both liars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Holding the side of the bench as if for support, Yibo does as Xiao Zhan asks. He rolls his shoulders, his back, his hips in a sinuous motion that leaves no room for doubt what he’s feeling. Yibo bites his bottom lip into his mouth and even </span>
  <em>
    <span>groans</span>
  </em>
  <span> breathily. Xiao Zhan captures the flex of his hips and the hazy look in his eyes on camera.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan bites back another greedy request for Yibo to keep going, only because Yibo is already shifting, folding his arms together on the bench and resting his head on them. He’s turned to face Xiao Zhan, a lazy smile stretching his lips, the grind of his body slow and luxurious to match. The movement rucks up the shirt even more, exposing half of Yibo’s back. From his angle, Xiao Zhan can see just a tease of his abs, hitching against the cloth of the bench.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The speed of his picture-taking slows down. Xiao Zhan is too tense, his focus too trained on Yibo to trigger another flash. Hell, even blinking is too much of a distraction from something Xiao Zhan would rather not miss a second of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Show me.” His own voice is low and rough, entranced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last roll of Yibo’s hips is slow and deliberate. He stills on the bench, releasing a sigh—or a groan. Xiao Zhan almost can’t take the way he arches his body to do a quarter turn, his front facing the camera as he lifts up onto one elbow. He’s so open like this, shirt hanging around his midsection, his legs spread languidly and comfortably. His dick is outlined in the dark shorts, solid and pressing against the inside of the zipper because the seam is suddenly too small to hold him. His ears and cheeks are pink, Xiao Zhan notices when he’s not busy staring at the bulge in his pants. He’s probably going to be in a similar state rather soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you like to be watched. You like to have your picture taken,” Xiao Zhan says, pleased by how steady he sounds. “Is this why the magazines are eating you up? Because you get like this for their photographers?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if to punctuate the statement, Xiao Zhan clicks the camera. No one would believe him if Xiao Zhan said Wang Yibo got hard in his studio, even with proof. It sounds too much like a fantasy to be real, but there Yibo is, fingers playing along his belt like he’s itching to touch himself. Xiao Zhan snaps a picture of that too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yes and no.” Yibo floors him with a smile. “I do like getting my picture taken. And being watched sounds fucking hot.” His hand, the one near his belt, slides up his own chest. He does it so casually Xiao Zhan thinks he might not even be aware of the way his fingertips trace around a nipple on the path up. “But I’ve never been like this for any photographer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I must be something special,” Xiao Zhan remarks. Hiding behind the camera, he feels at liberty to indulge in the sight of Yibo’s clothed cock, entertaining the notion that he’s the one who got him there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you looked at yourself?” Yibo starts with a laugh. “Please tell me you’ve been on the other end of the camera before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I prefer to be the observer. Beauty in the eye of, and all that,” he dismisses. His brain is really only firing on one cylinder, hung up on Yibo saying that </span>
  <em>
    <span>being watched sounds fucking hot.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Do you want to show me a little more?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you asking me because you want to see?” Yibo shoots back, and Xiao Zhan should have known he wouldn’t appreciate anything other than direct and transparent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Xiao Zhan answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Satisfied with his answer, Yibo reaches back down with that same hand and tugs the belt open and undoes the button of the shorts. A swatch of forest green underwear pokes out when he pulls the zipper down, and when Yibo dips his hand under the waistband, Xiao Zhan’s finger captures the scene with a click.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With his eyes still glued, always glued, to the camera Yibo takes his cock out and holds it in one fist. His other hand works the shorts and boxer briefs down past his hips, but he stops there. It’s enough, though. Xiao Zhan feels no guilt when he takes another picture. If he’s not mistaken, Yibo’s dick gives a twitch at the loud clicking sound filling the studio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you touch yourself for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo’s hand moves over his cock. Xiao Zhan watches the head disappear and reappear through the space between his thumb and index finger. He hears a sigh, and maybe Yibo had been holding back from touching himself until now. The slow pace must be killing him, but he doesn’t go faster. Yibo is waiting, he realizes under a wave of arousal that weakens his knees, for Xiao Zhan’s next order.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, I mean really touch yourself, Yibo.” The shift in Xiao Zhan’s voice is subtle, subtle as the shift in the air between them. Yibo hangs on his next words and executes the direction to the letter. “Lay on your back, feet planted on the bench. Lose the shorts too. They’ll just get in the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shorts and underwear get kicked off and land somewhere on the floor outside of the cove. Yibo’s legs seem impossibly longer when bare. The size of his dick matches the rest of his proportions, filling Yibo’s palm as he settles on his back and tugs on himself a little faster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What should I do with my other hand?” Yibo’s head falls to the side, and he looks at Xiao Zhan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your other hand,” he begins, collecting his thoughts. Xiao Zhan knows he can take this wherever he wants it to go, and that freedom is as thrilling as it is intimidating. He’s going to make it good, for both himself and for Yibo. “Your other hand should go to your balls. Do the opposite of what your first hand is doing, so light touches, nice and slow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo breathes out when he does exactly as told, fingers rolling his balls in slow circles. He pinches at the skin, pulling at it even as it tightens closer to his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now a bit lower, just under and behind. Start gently with your fingertips, but if it feels good, you can use your nails.” Xiao Zhan pulls all of this directly from the bank of things he’d like to do to Yibo right in this moment. He doesn’t know if Yibo will let him touch, even after all this, so Xiao Zhan is going to make sure he covers the bases.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo’s breath hitches when he rubs at his perineum. Maybe he’s never done it to himself before, or maybe he’s not used to the sensation, but Xiao Zhan is glad he can elicit such a reaction. He takes that momentum and runs with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can lift your hips into it too, if it helps,” Xiao Zhan murmurs. “You’ve got really nice legs. I’d like to see you flex them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Yibo fucks up into his fist, he gasps. For all his confidence from earlier, he’s coming apart so easily. But Xiao Zhan isn’t much better off. With his feet anchoring him to the bench, Yibo arches up in jerky rolls. Xiao Zhan feels his eyes on him still, but he’s taken by the sight of Yibo’s cock driving through his hand at an even quicker pace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, the tripod is too far away. Xiao Zhan makes quick work of the clasp that holds his camera in place and lifts it off the stand. He walks the camera around the tripod, getting closer, bringing himself to Yibo, driven by an insatiable urge to be close to him. Yibo’s gaze follows him, almost too desperate to look away. His eyebrows draw up at the center, betraying his pleasure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about a little lower,” Xiao Zhan says, indicating where with a glance down between his cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With free range of motion, Xiao Zhan changes up the camera angle by moving toward Yibo’s legs. He frames Yibo’s body at a forty-five-degree angle, which allows him a perfect view as his fingers stretch lower and circle around his hole. His hips jerk up and off the bench, the muscles of his thighs and ass clenching with it. Xiao Zhan’s rising body temperature fogs up the viewfinder, but he fires the photos anyway. It’s exhilarating that he’s going to be able to look at these pictures again whenever he wants to. This moment, repeated as often as he likes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put your fingers in your mouth, just this one last time.” Xiao Zhan’s mind is already three steps ahead of his words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo seems reluctant to stop touching himself, but he listens to Xiao Zhan and sucks on two of his fingers. It hasn’t gotten old the third time around, and Xiao Zhan thinks he’d never tire of seeing Yibo’s lips wrapped around anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When they’re wet enough, you can touch yourself again,” Xiao Zhan says. “I think you know what to do from there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo makes a loud noise of pulling his saliva-soaked fingers away before he says, “I want to hear you say it, though. What if I don’t know how to do it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan is pretty sure he’s bluffing—just </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him—but he shivers at all the scenarios and images his brain provides him with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s definitely got nothing against ordering Yibo around some more, so he says, “Start with one, and then we can work our way up to the second one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo circles his rim with his first finger, smiling through his flush at the camera. Xiao Zhan lowers it and looks at Yibo plainly, wanting to feel those eyes on him and not through the lens. He sees it on Yibo’s face when the finger slides into him, watches how Yibo’s throat bobs when he swallows a gasp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I want Xiao Zhan to touch me too?” Yibo says, playing up the bashful and pushing literally all of Xiao Zhan’s buttons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan smiles at him, maybe more fond than he should be, and he stands at the end of the bench to see Yibo’s face framed by his knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t touch you and take pictures at the same time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo throws him a pout that lasts only until he wedges the second finger into himself. Then his mouth goes slack around a long groan, and from where he’s standing, Xiao Zhan can see the two fingers pumping in and out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just one more, then please touch me,” Yibo breathes. “Touch me all you want, Zhan-ge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck.” He doesn’t know if the expletive is in response to the implication of touch or Yibo begging him to do it or the new honorific attached to his name, but it’s probably all of them. “Fuck, alright. Let me just get some things. Find your prostate for me while I grab them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan nearly drops the camera down on a table as he hurries toward his stuff thrown in a corner of the room. He’s crossing his metaphorical fingers that he has what he needs among the miscellaneous things accumulating in his bag. It takes a second of digging around, but he emerges grasping a mostly empty bottle of lube and a single condom. Xiao Zhan checks, confirms the condom hasn’t expired yet, and thanks his past self for throwing them into his bag for whatever reason, whenever that was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My hero,” Yibo comments when he eyes the things Xiao Zhan brings back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had my fair share of hookups that took a disappointing turn when neither of us came prepared.” For now, Xiao Zhan leaves the condom on the bench and spreads a few drops of lube over the fingers of his left hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not your first time hooking up with a guy. You’ve done this a few times,” Yibo supplies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan grabs the camera, the balance of it awkward with only his right hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I went to art school.” And that is, in and of itself, all the explanation he needs to give.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo hums, looking pleased with himself. The two fingers inside him have stilled, and he looks way too comfortable with just that. Xiao Zhan slides his free hand slowly up Yibo’s inner thigh, and he revels in how his first touch is on such a soft, intimate part of him. Yibo’s legs spread a little wider for him, the hand around his cock stilled in anticipation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His wet fingers circle where Yibo’s have disappeared, causing them both to shudder. The breach of Xiao Zhan’s first finger is tight, sliding in slowly alongside Yibo’s. Inside, he’s hot, and Xiao Zhan thinks his hand is shaking a little. He glances up at Yibo’s face, sees his eyes hazy with arousal, his lips parted for his soft breaths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks back down to watch his own finger drag in and out of Yibo, and the pull is magnificent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think you can take one more?” Xiao Zhan asks, giddy with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Yibo breathes, caught somewhere between dismissing and begging.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fit is even tighter—so, so much tighter than anything Xiao Zhan has felt with just two fingers—but he works the second digit in and hisses at the sight of Yibo’s stretched rim. Yibo’s hips give feeble rocks against his hand, against both of their hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect.” Xiao Zhan raises the camera to his face. “You’re perfect, Yibo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He angles the camera for portrait style, capturing all of Yibo and his long-ness, from the top of his head all the way down to where two of Xiao Zhan’s fingers are buried inside him. He thrusts them once, punching a gasp out of Yibo. Yibo’s own fingers pull out, allowing him to cover his own mouth with his wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said I could have one more picture,” Xiao Zhan reminds him. “Let me see your face.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He won’t put the camera down, he won’t take his fingers out and fuck Yibo until he gets the last picture. Yibo seems to arrive at that rather quickly, so he drops his hand away and lowers his eyelids with arousal. Model-mode back on, even through the flush on his face, Yibo runs his tongue over his bottom lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan snaps the photo. Yibo’s body truly is a work of art, his long limbs gracefully folded and draped across the bench, his hand wrapped loosely around the base of his cock, which rests dark and heavy on top of his taut abdominal muscles, leaking from the two fingers shoved into his ass. Xiao Zhan’s wrist is visible at the bottom of the frame, tendons flexing to get his fingers at just the right angle. He can’t believe he gets to capture this moment, like taking something ethereal and melding it into something physical, something permanent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as the shutter clicks, Xiao Zhan carelessly lowers the camera to a spot on the floor and plucks the condom off the bench. Yibo arches at the sensation of Xiao Zhan sliding his fingers out. He’s still watching Xiao Zhan work, like he’s the most interesting thing in the room—which Xiao Zhan would vehemently dispute. Despite his comfort at making his living behind the camera, Xiao Zhan is kind of thriving under Yibo’s attention. He blushes, sure, but that open, eager, heady look in Yibo’s eyes also makes him want to do a good job, to give Yibo what he deserves after he’s dutifully followed Xiao Zhan’s orders all day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing over the bench with a leg on either side, Xiao Zhan undoes the front of his jeans and pushes them and his underwear down just enough to get his cock out. He loves the hungry look Yibo ravishes him with, but Xiao Zhan says, “Roll over for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he does, Yibo takes an obvious, indulgent once-over of him. Xiao Zhan also appreciates what he sees below him—Yibo’s shirt, the only article of clothing he’s still wearing, pushed all the way up his chest, his knees spread, the glint of precome at the tip of his dick and the shine of excess lube between his cheeks. But then Yibo turns over, getting his knees up and under him, and curls his fingers around the edge of the bench. Ass on full display, it turns out Yibo doesn’t have any bad angles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>XIao Zhan’s lubed fingers slip against the smooth plastic condom wrapper as he tries to open it. Once he has succeeded, he tosses the waste on the floor, which—along with the camera and the scatter of Yibo’s clothing—is the filthiest his studio has ever been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how long he’s been hard—too absorbed in Yibo’s gravity to pay attention to himself—but judging by the sizzle of pleasure that rockets down his spine just from slipping the condom on, he’d venture to guess it’s been a while. Spreading lube over his cock feels much the same. With his free hand, Xiao Zhan palms appreciatively over Yibo’s ass, then hooks around his hip to pull him back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Xiao Zhan circles the head around his hole, Yibo hums in want and pushes his hips back even more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not afraid of my manager walking in on us like this?” Yibo wonders out loud, like he’s daring Xiao Zhan to be responsible and professional and stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To be completely frank, Xiao Zhan hasn’t given it a single thought since Yibo walked into the room and banished the rest of his logical brain functions. But his dick gives an interested jump in his hand at the possibility of being caught, and that’s something he’ll have to unpack more thoroughly later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So instead, he goes with, “She said she’d be a few hours,” and presses the first slow inches into Yibo’s body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo groans through it, dropping his head down between his tensed arms. When he’s halfway in, Xiao Zhan places both hands on Yibo’s hips and guides him back the rest of the way. When he’s bottomed out, the tops of his thighs flush with Yibo’s ass, Xiao Zhan lets out an unsteady breath. Even from the prep, the fit is tight. Inside, Yibo is soft and warm, squeezing sporadically around him with every subtle shift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d risk it all for me, huh?” Yibo says around a pant. He sounds put together despite the stretch of his rim and the way his body shakes slightly from the pleasure of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess I would,” Xiao Zhan says, clearly not filtering the horniness between his head and his mouth. “I bet you meet a lot of people who would.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grip he has on Yibo makes it easy—so easy—to pull back and thrust back in, hands moving him where Xiao Zhan wants him. He draws moans from Yibo that fill the room, or rather he pushes them out with every thrust from behind. Yibo takes him so beautifully, and Xiao Zhan looks down to watch his own cock disappear into his ass as Yibo scratches at the fabric bench cover.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo sounds like he’s about to respond, but Xiao Zhan cuts him off with a particularly rough thrust. The force of it sends Yibo’s knees scraping against the bench, and a few more of those could have him pushed off it completely. Xiao Zhan holds him steady, though, one hand digging into the skin of Yibo’s hip while the other starts to slide around and up his chest. His fingers finding and playing with a nipple pulls a needy gasp from Yibo, causing him to grind his ass back into Xiao Zhan’s next forward motion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So good,” Yibo moans. “You give it to me so good…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan’s dick is as hard as it can get, but he swears it hardens even more at Yibo’s words. Leave it to Wang Yibo to get him weak in the knees like this, even when he’s the one giving it from behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tugs at Yibo’s nipple if just to hear him gasp, but then releases it in favor of sliding his palm back down his chest. Yibo’s abs jump under Xiao Zhan’s touch, and he arches his back into it, encouraging that hand to keep trailing down. Xiao Zhan gets a hand around Yibo’s cock, feels the heaviness of it against his fingers. Each thrust pushes Yibo through the tunnel of his fist, and Yibo’s whole body coils as tense as a spring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abandoning the hold on Yibo’s hip, Xiao Zhan brushes up Yibo’s spine and pushes down between his shoulder blades. Yibo goes willingly, letting Xiao Zhan bend him forward so his head hangs just above the edge of the bench, hips and ass held up on his shaking knees. The groans rattle out of him unsteadily, and Xiao Zhan can feel it on Yibo’s cock and in his ass—just how much he’s loving it, just how close he’s getting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Xiao Zhan breathes. This whole thing has been about pleasuring Yibo, but he can’t ignore how deliciously Yibo squeezes his cock. If it weren’t for the condom, he’d be leaking a mess into his ass, the muscles of his thighs flexing every time he rocks and jerks forward. Sweat collects around his neck and temples, his dick throbbing in near-release as his thrusts lose rhythm and follow a more erratic pattern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo loves it, though, based on the way he grinds out a rough, “Fuck me,” and rolls back to meet him one more time before shuddering through orgasm. Xiao Zhan knows because he feels it in the way Yibo tightens around him, and the way Yibo’s shaft throbs in his hand, his breath hitching to a halt for a moment as he rides it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan’s hand slides through the come on his dick and spreads it around. Over-sensitive, Yibo quivers and whines at his touch, and that might just be the very last thing Xiao Zhan can handle before he loses himself in Yibo’s body. He buries himself to the hilt and comes with a moan to the fantasy of painting the inside of Yibo’s clenching ass in white. He holds Yibo in place even as the waves of pleasure ebb, the back of Yibo’s thighs pressed against the front of Xiao Zhan’s, while he waits for feeling to return to his fingers and toes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stays there like it’s his new home for a minute as they both catch their breath. Xiao Zhan’s whole body feels like one big pulse, and he rests his hand on Yibo’s lower back for support until he trusts himself to move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he pulls out, still dizzy, the mess is contained in the condom, and Xiao Zhan quickly ties it off and disposes of it. Yibo exhales a sigh at the loss and shakily moves to stand. Xiao Zhan finds some makeup tissues and uses one to wipe up his hands, then gives a few to Yibo so he can clean himself up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Redressing for Xiao Zhan is as easy as tucking himself away and zipping back up. Yibo, on the other hand, has to locate his discarded, borrowed clothes and put the outfit back together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is your designer gonna want this back after I’ve had sex in it?” Yibo asks, gesturing to the shirt as he ties the leather belt back around his waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan helps him fix the collar—though the wrinkles they’ve caused are beyond help—and grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can wear it home and send it back dry-cleaned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yibo laughs, looking so sweet and full of color, practically glowing in the studio light. The gaze he fixes on Xiao Zhan is something that kind of definitely takes his breath away, and Xiao Zhan is struck with the desire to see him again. And not just on a magazine cover.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I want to give it back to you in person?” Yibo teases, as if reading Xiao Zhan’s mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as Xiao Zhan is about to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, that would work too, how about next Saturday night,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the door at the end of the hallway opens and closes. Yibo’s manager’s voice carries ahead, and Xiao Zhan scrambles to pick his camera and the condom wrapper off the floor just before she swoops into the studio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan clears his throat, acting casual, but the manager just props her phone between her shoulder and ear and sends Yibo an </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span> gesture. Yibo gives her a thumbs-up in response, then pins Xiao Zhan with a secret, knowing smile and a wink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His manager scoops up Yibo’s things and walks over to Xiao Zhan just as he’s taking the SD card out of the camera.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Any problems? Was he good?” she asks, one hand covering the mouthpiece on her phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan glances at Yibo and doesn’t even bother fighting the smile that spreads over his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was excellent,” Xiao Zhan says, though he could say much, much more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.” She heads back over to Yibo, ushering him out of the room. “We’ll wire payment later tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Send me your favorites, Zhan-ge!” Yibo calls over his shoulder, flashing a gorgeous smile before he’s gone and down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan shakes his head, just to himself in the now empty studio. He knows exactly which </span>
  <em>
    <span>favorites</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yibo would want to see, so he cleans up and heads home to sort the good from the bad from the nasty.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>It’s hours later that night when, alone in his apartment in front of his laptop, separating out the professional pictures that he’ll need to send to the editing team, he gets a text from an unknown number.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a picture attached to the message, so he opens that first. What greets him is a selfie of a shirtless torso, cropped just below the hips and just above a beautiful pair of lips that Xiao Zhan realizes he never got to kiss. Around the neck is a thick silver chain with a heavy ox pendant resting over a solid chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I think I’ll keep this. You don’t mind, Zhan-ge?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Xiao Zhan’s lips pull up at the corners. He glances from his phone to his laptop, where he’s got a file opened to pictures of Yibo sprawled out across a bench naked and open and wanting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s all yours.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://twitter.com/shamu_who">my twitter</a>, where i am, at best, a fanart retweet bot</p></blockquote></div></div>
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